Hermione hurried along the corridor, robes flapping behind her as she struggled to adjust the strap to her bag whilst maintaining her speed. She was supposed to be meeting George in Hogsmeade ten minutes ago. Not that punctuality was a particularly prized virtue among the younger Weasleys, but she saw no reason to forego the courtesy she so often enforced on her pupils. Hurrying around the corner she had little time to stop herself before colliding into a shawl-covered mass of indeterminate sex.
"Hermione!" it squawked, before revealing itself as a rather unsteady Professor Trelawney. Great, this was all she needed when she was running late.
"So sorry, Sybill." She hastily bent down and began picking up the miscellany of knick knacks dropped in the wake of her collision, dumping them unceremoniously into Trelawney's scrawny arms.
"The Tower!" Trelawney trilled as she turned over the card which Hermione had handed her. "Oh dear me, girl! Great upheaval and chaos! You must reassess your values before it is too late." She clutched Hermione's arm in a vice-like grip. "Come, come, child, let me complete your reading."
"That's quite alright," Hermione said stiffly, trying to extricate herself as politely as possible but without giving any cause for encouragement.
"Oh, but you must hear the rest, for how else will you recognise the path you must take toward fulfilment? I see a great emptiness in you," she said in impressively ethereal tones.
"That's probably because I haven't had any dinner yet," Hermione said dryly, trying to side-step the obstinate obstacle which was preventing her from rectifying the problem.
"You never did have a very strong inner eye," Trelawney replied sadly, "but you must complete your reading or untold misfortune will – Severus!" She broke off suddenly, turning to face the new addition to her impromptu têtê á. têtê.
Snape cursed as he realised that it was too late to back up the corridor and attempt a different route to the Great Hall. "Sybill," he acknowledged her as civilly as his haste would allow, before spotting a tarot card face-down on the floor in front of him. "Here." He shoved it ungraciously into her full hands, hoping that it would provide distraction enough for him to slip past her unmolested.
She turned the card over in wonder, looking from Hermione to Snape with a wily smirk on her face. "The King of Swords; he is intelligent, powerful-"
"And that's the first bit of sense I've ever got out of you," Snape muttered under his breath as Hermione stifled a giggle.
"- and wilfully independent. He has complete mastery over his emotions and he alone can steer the querent along her difficult journey to fulfilment."
"Fascinating I'm sure," Snape said dryly as he attempted to sweep past.
Trelawney held out her arm to stop him. "Pick another, finish the reading." She waved the pack of cards obtrusively in his face. Well anything to shut the old bag up and escape from her clutches.
"And you, dear?" She turned to Hermione, bulbous eyes regarding her disdainfully. If Snape had done it then she supposed it was quicker to go along with the charade than protest. She rolled her eyes at him sympathetically as she plucked out a card at random, only to be rewarded with a sneer for her efforts. Trelawney turned it over with undisguised glee as she examined the bound and helpless figure depicted on the card. "The Eight of Swords. Oh dear, we are in a tizzy, aren't we? A difficult situation must be resolved. You must ignore your inner conflict and confront your indecisiveness to move on – perhaps with the guiding influence of the king?" She looked at Snape shrewdly, before turning over his card with unnecessary flourish, gasping as she unmasked the final set-piece. "The Lovers!"
Snape growled and pushed past her impatiently – proof if ever any was needed that Divination was a fraudulent branch of magic.
"But wait, I haven't told you what it signifies! The opposing forces and sacrifice of a torn heart-"
Hermione hastily followed his example and hurried away to Hogsmeade. She glanced at her watch as she sped down the cobbled street toward the Three Broomsticks. Despite the vagueness of George's invitation, she felt strangely anxious at the possibility that he might have given up waiting and returned home. She told herself that she was merely looking forward to conveying the impotence of his family's magical binding and issuing a few ground-rules of her own – such as a capping limit on the number of Weasley visits to her chambers. She needn't have worried, however, for she immediately spotted him as she rounded the corner, lounging on a picnic table outside as the warm evening light hit the back of his head.
"Hello George." She smiled as she swung herself onto the opposite bench. "Lovely day, isn't it?"
George eyed her shrewdly. "Last time we met you were practically one step away from throwing a thesaurus at my head – something happened?"
Hermione smiled enigmatically. "Nothing, absolutely nothing."
"Funny sort of nothing if you ask me," George mumbled as he took a swig from his pint glass.
"Well, that's precisely it, isn't it? I married you because nothing would have to change. Then I discover that everything could change if your mother took it upon herself. And now? Well now I find out that nothing has to change after all. So, yes, I'm pretty happy with nothing."
George frowned. "Look, I don't mean to stand on your sandcastle, but I've already warned you against underestimating the determination of Molly Weasley."
Hermione laughed. "But that's just it; Molly can huff and puff all she likes but it's not going to make any difference. There's been so much intermingling of the blood lines down the years that the magical imperitive has simply broken down. You've taken subservient Muggle-born brides so for granted that you haven't even noticed!"
"I can safely assure you that subservience was the last thing I expected from Hermione Granger when I proposed marriage. Well, second to last thing." He added cheekily.
"George, I'm being serious," she chided.
"So am I! Although I'm starting to think that our ancestors might have had the right idea after all…"
Hermione reached across the table and administered a playful slap.
"See, they don't tell you about this part of marriage when you're standing at the altar promising unconditional love and devotion!"
"They also don't tell you about the in-laws, but I suppose they want some couples to actually go through with the ceremony," Hermione countered, smiling mischievously.
George contemplated how much she had improved in his estimation in the past month. He supposed that hadn't been a particularly difficult feat, considering the level of his former opinion, although he had yet to persuade Fred. He had wanted him to come this evening and see for himself, but he had received some muttered excuse about wanting to oversee delivery of a large stock order at the last minute. Still, he'd come around eventually, he just had to be careful to bend any conversation away from Hermione whenever he entered the room.
"Here," he reached into his bag and pulled out a small bundle of scrolls. "These were delivered to my flat. I think most of them are junk but I didn't want to throw any away just in case."
"Ah, I wondered where this had got to!" Hermione exclaimed as she untied the neat knot of string and plucked out a scroll. She examined the address critically. "No wonder – it's addressed to Mrs. George Weasley."
"Expecting something, were we?" George said, amused at her indignant expression.
"Yes," Hermione said distractedly, eyes flitting across the parchment. "It's my invitation to the Academy of Magic's annual Gathering," she said as she lowered the letter.
George perked up noticeably. "I suppose you need a date for that?"
Hermione looked up from the task of folding the scroll carefully into her bag. "Well, it's not compulsory," she stressed, "but it's certainly an option."
"And do you, er, have anyone in mind?" he continued, trying to maintain the casual tone in his voice.
"Well it's not usually the hottest ticket in town. Although they always do quite good canapés," she added as an afterthought.
At this point George was practically salivating. "So you wouldn't be adverse to maybe taking me along?"
Hermione regarded him shrewdly. "Why are you so keen?"
George rolled his eyes, staring at her as though she had just announced her intention to elope to the Black Country with Neville Longbottom. "It's a fantastic opportunity to get a heads up on all the latest research innovations. Me and Fred have been trying to wrangle invites for ages. Maybe they had some sort of forewarning from the barman at the Hog's Head. That was a joke!" he added hastily when he saw the look on Hermione's face.
She regarded him silently across the table for a few moments, seeming to weigh something up in her mind. "You really want to go?" she asked finally.
George nodded enthusiastically.
"I'll cut you a deal then; you can come as my guest on Saturday if you excuse me from lunch with your mother on Sunday."
George laughed. "Ooh I don't know; there's not much substance to those canapés. I'm sure my mother would just hate to think of her daughter-in-law wasting away by herself at Hogwarts."
"I'm sure your mother would hate to think of any of her brood feeling slightly peckish," Hermione responded dryly. "So do we have a deal?"
George reached across the table and clasped her hand in his own. "Done."
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"Something the matter, Severus? You look quite flushed." Dumbledore smiled genially as Snape took his customary seat beside him at the high table with an impatient sigh.
"Quite frankly I do not know what staffing procedure you employ at Hogwarts – do you perhaps advertise for vacancies in the back pages of The Quibbler?"
"I've already justified Ms. Granger's credentials." Dumbledore shot him a warning glance before returning to his dinner.
"I was actually referring to Mrs. Rochester up there in the North Tower, but thanks for reinforcing my point."
Dumbledore lay down his knife and fork with a delicate tinkle. "Ah, dear Sybill. Perhaps my employment criteria was slightly off at the time-"
"Ha!" Snape broke in with a triumphant interjection.
"-because I also happened to interview a very surly Potions Master around the same time."
"Oh very funny," Snape said dryly, digging into his beef wellington with venom.
"Well that will cheer you up at least." Dumbledore nodded to the scroll lying propped up against the water jug in front of Snape.
"Oh Merlin's toe nails, is it really that time of year again?" Snape sighed heavily as he opened the invitation from the Academy of Magic. "I do find these things so tedious."
"Nonsense – it will be a chance for you to socialise with your peers for once. You'll never find a wife at the bottom of a cauldron."
"Nor will I at the Academy of Magic Gathering – just a room full of chinless wonders competing to bore me rigid with the latest research on the healing properties of Albanian frog's bladders or whatever nonsense they've wasted the last year scraping from the sides of their empty skulls. And I must stand there nodding politely in all the appropriate places whilst sipping the lukewarm cat's piss which passes for decent wine at these events."
"Therapy working, then?" Dumbledore inquired innocently, and was rewarded with a glare from his companion.
Snape quickly glanced around to check for potential eavesdroppers. "You would not believe what they have got me doing," he said through clenched teeth. "Degrading does not even begin to describe this Muggle-influenced nonsense."
"Oh? Got you out in the forest hugging trees?"
"I-what? Why on earth would anyone want to hug a tree?" Snape said incredulously, forehead creasing as he tried to picture such a seemingly pointless activity.
Dumbledore shrugged. "It's what they do, sometimes. Apparently it helps them feel closer to nature and reconcile themselves to the existence of a higher being."
"Should lend them the use of the whomping willow – that would certainly reconcile them to their maker," Snape snorted.
"So how is it really going?" Dumbledore repeated in a more serious tone, leaning forward with a look of concern on his face.
Snape sighed. "First they tried hypnotherapy."
"And?"
"I'm a skilled Occlumens – what do you think happened?" Snape snapped impatiently, before continuing a little defensively. "He didn't give me any warning and I reacted reflexively – although I'm assured it's nothing that a short spell in St. Mungo's won't heal. So now they've assigned me a new therapist who believes in some mumbo-jumbo called Cognitive Behavioural Therapy."
"Which means what, exactly?"
"I'm supposed to undo old thought patterns by resolving upon new actions. Today, for example, I tried being nice." Dumbledore let out a strange cough which soundly oddly like stifled laughter. Snape glared at him briefly before continuing. "So this afternoon for the entirety of my O.W.L. class I held my tongue – despite considerable provocation from some particularly appalling attempts at a simple swelling potion. I even smiled at one of my students for producing a passable result."
"And?" Dumbledore prompted.
"She screamed and knocked over her cauldron. I spent the rest of the day neutralising the classroom. You see the thing about Slytherins is that we're not expected to act any other way, and when we do attempt to break out of the mould we only excite suspicion and mistrust. The rest of the wizarding world need us to take all the flak, because heaven forbid they begin to take notice of their own deficiencies in the absence of a convenient scapegoat."
"Come, come you do not give your house sufficient credit. Imagine a world full of Hufflepuffs – all courtesy and fairness that we'd never get anything done."
"And a world full of Gryffindors?" Snape raised his eyebrow, but Dumbledore refused to rise to the bait.
"No, we need Slytherin qualities as surely as we rely on those from the other houses."
"Oh, yes, I'd forgotten; you believe we should disregard centuries of experience pointing to the contrary and all join hands to skip off merrily into the sunset," Snape said sarcastically. "Presumably under the leadership of a singing hat, just to add some gravitas to the occasion?"
"You do not believe that opposites attract then?" Dumbledore smiled knowingly.
"No I most certainly do not!"
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A/N: …ever noticed that Trelawney often has an uncanny knack for prescience?
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